Insanity
by lionsligersandbears
Summary: Jim Kirk is returned to his crew after a mysterious disappearance, but when he is returned his is a changed man... and not for the better. Eventual Spock and Kirk. Set after Into Darkness.
1. Prologue

_**Clarity**_

**Prologue**

Jim walked down the hall. His footsteps echoed through out the ship as he went. As he went, every now and then he would pause and listen to them until they disappeared. Then he would listen for a few moments afterwards. Not for his steps, but for something else.

A voice… another pair of steps… breathing…

Anything.

But, as always, it was silent, except for the hums and dings of the machinery of the enterprise.

At this point Jim resumed walking and head to the turbo lift.

It was waiting for him, the door swooshing open as soon as he pressed the button.

Jim stepped on and turned around to the door, ordering the lift to take him to the bridge.

With another swoosh, the doors open and Jim stepped onto the bridge. He nodded to each station and swaggered his way to the captain's chair. Sitting in the chair had always felt right, as if the chair had been built just for him. He sat in it and placed a hand on both of the armrests.

"Kirk to Sickbay." He said into the intercom.

Silence.

"Kirk to Sickbay." He repeated.

No response.

"Kirk to McCoy."

…

"Kirk to Engineering."

…

"This is the Captain to Engineering. Respond. That's an order."

…

"Kirk to Auxiliary Control."

…

"Kirk to Transporter Room."

…

"Kirk to Shuttle Bay."

…

"Kirk to anyone. Do you read? Kirk to anyone."

…

"… Kirk to Spock. Respond."

…

"Respond."

…

"Kirk out."

Jim shifted his position, leaning back into the chair and stared at the screen in front of him. It was showing the current stars in front of him. They were always changing, but never were they recognizable.

Jim got up and went to Sulu's station and checked the coordinate readings. They proved inconclusive. That neither confirmed nor denied whether he was in federation space, the neutral zone, or other. Hell, whether he was still in his galaxy or in some new galaxy. Passively, he turned away from the readings. He checked others to see if there were any signs of a planet, a nearby star system, a ship, a ghost, or even a blimp, but found nothing.

He went to the science station and looked over the readings there, too. He repeated the process with all the stations, and found anything pertaining to the outside world irrelevant and inconclusive.

The communication station still had Uhura's nail polish sitting on it. She liked to paint her nails during the down time while listening to subspace radio waves. The subspace frequencies were silent right now. Kirk sent out the message he had prerecorded on all frequencies, using a special device to boost the signal that he had jerry-rigged out of spare parts he had stolen from Scotty's room. After making sure it worked, he moved on.

The ship it's self was operating perfectly. It was traveling comfortably at Warp 4. The dilithium chambers were full, the warp narcelles never seemed to over heat, and life support controls were rigidly sustainable. And, more importantly, the course of the ship was preset and nothing Jim could do made it change course, reveal where he was going, or where he was.

He was trapped; he was alone. He was an unwilling passenger on an empty Federation ship he had once captained going from no where to oblivion.

Jim settled back into the captain's chair and rubbed his forehead.

He spent the majority of both days sitting in this chair on the bridge, watching the stars go by. As the hours went by he would shift around in the chair, changing positions. He was sitting up straight. Next he was laying across the chair, legs hanging over one arm rest, and his head lolling over the other. Now he was sitting in the chair, up-side-down, and his feet where his head should be and his head where is feet go, angled so he was looking at the ceiling. That position got uncomfortable quickly.

Jim stood up and went back to the communication station and picked up the nail polish. Curiosity got the better of him, as it had several times before, and he couldn't help but try and paint one nail. The color was black, as bold and fierce as Uhura was.

Is.

Jim shook his head and replaced the nail polish back to its original position and went into the turbo lift.

Hungry was now present, so he went to the cafeteria. Out of habit, Jim got on top of the first table and surveyed the room from the high vantage point. He then hopped from that table to the next, and then to next, till he got on one close to a replicator.

The stores were enough to feed four-hundred men for five years. His food supply was unlimited. He had spent much time playing with the programming of the replicators, and was almost proud of the wide selection he had created, if he compared it to how it was before. Banana Fosters, jambalaya, gazpacho soup, grilled salmon, chocolate truffles, and smoothies of every fruit flavor were just a few he had created. He had also tried his best at expanding into Vulcan cuisines. He hadn't much experience with Plomeek soup, but it tasted like what he remembered from a Vulcan style restaurant he had dined at a long time ago.

He gave himself a meal of waffles with fried Canadian bacon. It was acceptable.

After licking his plant clean he deposited it into the receptacle and moved on to his next destination: the gymnasium.

It was a daily ritual to work out in it for at least an hour. Such an action kept him grounded, toned, and ready for anything. The ache of sore muscle felt good.

The rest of the day he spent on the observation deck, checking in with the bridge periodically. Finally a point came when Jim felt fatigue he could no longer ignore, so he took one last turbo lift ride.

As he walked down the hall he passed the room that was meant to be his, instead entered the room right next to it, using a captain's override to get in, has he had done the night before, and the night before that, and the night before that.

Jim entered Spock's quarters and peeled off the command gold shirt he donned everyday. He shimmied out of the black pants he wore too, in favor of his favorite pair of sweatpants which was hanging off the back of Spock's desk chair.

His own room hadn't been entered since the first week of this… solitude. Being there, it felt too normal and too lonely at the same time. Why Spock's room became his current sleeping space he couldn't really say, beyond that it comforted him, for some reason.

Taking in the foreign scent of incense the vulcan once favored, Kirk laid down on the bed and stared at the wall, where a vulcan tapestry hung on display.

With a sigh, he finally surrendered to the pulls of sleep.


	2. Chapter One

**Chapter One**

_**Undisclosed amount of time Later**_

Jim awoke with a start.

His breathing was erratic. He looked around wildly, taking in his surroundings.

Sickbay. He was in fucking sickbay. That was new. He had never woken up here before, but it was reasonably only a matter of time. He knew how this game worked, and he was sick and tired of being a pawn.

He was alone, in the private room in the back. It had once been a private joke amongst the crew that this room was Jim's personnel sick bay, due to the fact that on a fair number of missions, he had gotten hurt enough to need serious medical attention. There had been talk of making a plaque…

Jim assessed himself next, after determining that where he was, was safe for now. He was in a hospital gown. The burns and cuts he had worn during his last consciousness were gone, but some bruises and soreness remained. Someone had been treating him medically. That was clear enough by the fact that he was laying down on a biobed that was in tune with his body.

A blanket was drawn over him, so he pushed it off and saw that he was also, apparently barefoot. He supposed it made sense for waking up in sickbay, apparent as a patient, but what ever scenario he was in now, he was damn sure it would be better if he had a pair of boot.

He weighed his options, knowing that getting off the biobed was likely to trigger the scenario's events in motion, but that was better then waiting for the scenario to begin while he was vulnerable and unprepared.

He looked around again, this time for a possible weapon, just in case it was one of those scenarios again. Sadly, the room was vacant of anything useful. Not even a hypo. The most terrifying object at his disposal was the pillow he had been using just a minute ago. The only use that would be is if this turned out to be a pillow fight, like the kind at Earth sleepover parties (several of which he had crashed in his youth).

God, if only it were one of those…

His bare hands would have to do.

He slipped out of the biobed and crossed the room quickly to stand by the closed door. The bed's readings immediately went dead as soon as he left, luckily not setting off any kind of alarm, or at least any kind of alarm that he could hear.

Leaning up against the door, Jim could hear voices. They were too muffled for him to determine if they were from anyone he knew. He strained his ears to see if he could possibly determine that, or make out any words that they were speaking. The attempt was in vain, but the failure didn't last long. Whoever was out side was now approaching Jim's door. He could heat to foot steps click across the floor, so he readied himself.

Countless times living through scenario after scenario, he learned to stop taking any part of them seriously.

That is why when the door to the private room swooshed open to reveal Doctor Leonard McCoy, Jim didn't hesitate to attack.

The doctor was taken by surprise and easily crashed to the ground under Jim's weight. Jim quickly rolled off into the main room of sickbay and jumped up, taking in the new surroundings. Several members of the medical staff looked at him with shock, one of which dropped a PADD with a gasp.

"Goddammit Jim!" McCoy hollered. He was already beginning to get up but Jim wasn't waiting around to see what happened when he did. He started to run for the exit.

"Restrain him!" McCoy yelled.

The two nearest of the medical staff managed to get in between Jim and the exit, their hands outstretched and ready to grab him. Jim ducked down, avoiding the first pair of arms and swung his leg around to knock the other man down.

His leg was in pain, more so after the contact, but Jim bit down the pain. He couldn't let the pain get a hold of him, slow him down.

Jim threw a punch at the next person. The med personnel countered with a move of his own and managed to grab a hold of his wrist. Jim used the firm grip of the man against him and jerked his arm to himself, and the man along with it, while throwing his own weight forward. They crashed together.

With a short maneuver, Jim got the tactical advantage and forced his opponent to the ground, swiping their feet out from under them.

Hands grabbed his shoulders from behind, his first opponent recovered from the first attack, and Jim instinctively flipped him over, throwing the body on top of the foe he had just taken down in front of him. A bit extreme, but that should take both out of commission for the time being.

Several nurse yelped in surprise from the far side of the room. Jim was just as surprised himself that he could do this kind of damage in the state he was in.

Pain shot through Jim's midsection, the actions he had just done probably inflamed some injury he couldn't recall having, forcing him to double over, arms wrapped around his waist, and swear angrily.

Through the pain he stumbled to the door, trying to be quick about it before anyone new reached him or Tweedledee and Tweedledum recovered enough to pose a threat. Of course, the odds were never in his favor.

His only chance at escape was crushed when Spock stepped through the door, a picture of Vulcan poise and Earth dignity. It took less then a second for him to pause, take in the scene around him, and then lock in on to Jim.

Spock took a step forward.

Jim took a step back.

"Stay back," Jim warned.

Spock took another step forward.

"Captain, your injuries are not healed. It would unwise to..."

"Shut up! I don't want to hear it! Just stay the hell away from me" He felt sick.

"Spock, Jim is out of his mind! He's a danger to himself and others." McCoy shouted. Jim shot a quick dirty look to McCoy.

"Captain, you are unwell. I think it would be best if you calmed down and let us help."

"No! You can't help! I've tried that before! I told you everything! And not just once! Over and over and nothing changed! You don't understand and you never will! You aren't even real!"

"Captain, you are making no sense."

"Jim, what in the hell are you talking about?"

"That's what they want, isn't it? They want nothing to make any sense. They want me out of my fucking mind!"

"To whom do you refer to when you say 'they'?" Spock inquired.

"I know you know! Or you don't know, I don't know, but that doesn't change anything! I know and no matter what I do you will never know! Or you will know for a short while, but then it'll all happen again. I can't do this anymore! I just can't! I just want to be left alone!" Jim waved his arms around in the air violently, not caring if he was making a spectacle.

"If you do not calm down and follow Doctor McCoy's instructions I will be forced to take action."

Jim narrowed his eyes.

"I'm quaking in my gown." He spat.

Spock dared to take another step forward. Jim didn't hesitate to throw himself at his First.

It was over almost as soon as it began. Jim was in no condition to fight anyone, let alone a Vulcan three times as strong as a normal man who he once sparred with on a weekly basis. Sadly it wasn't even strength that defeated him, but just agile and quick thinking, a Vulcan specialty. Spock quickly sidestepped his advance and delivered a nerve pinch in his sweet spot between the shoulder and the neck, and Jim feel to the floor, blacking out.


	3. Chapter Two

**Chapter Two**

"You know what? Get the hell out of the house! When your mom comes back, she can deal with you! Go ahead, go! Runaway! You think I give a damn?"

They were fighting again.

Sam and Frank always fought. Since they moved to Frank's house, after their mother's remarriage, there was never a moment of peace between the two.

Sam and Frank were like water in oil.

When Winona Kirk was home, in the brief windows between Starfleet assignments that took her off planet to far away worlds, they managed to bite down their hatred of each other for the sake of civility. Sam had tried to explain to her a few times how Frank acted, but Mom never really believed him. She thought Sam was rebelling for the sake of rebelling, wanting to cause trouble when she was home as punishment for her being away constantly and to get attention.

She didn't understand. Or she didn't wish to understand. Jim wasn't sure.

This time, though, things seemed serious. Sam had a bag he had packed and ready from his room and began marching down the stairs, followed by a Frank that was almost frothing at the mouth as he hurled insults left and right.

Jim ran down the stairs after them, abandoning the toy starship he had been playing with in favor of trying to figure out what was going on. They had already gone out the front door by the time Jim reached the first floor, and halfway to the driveway by the time Jim reached the front steps.

"Where are you going?" Jim yelled out desperately.

"Far as I can get."

No. Sam couldn't just leave, could he? No. He wouldn't. Same would never leave him alone. No… Water and oil… Sam couldn't stand Frank. He was so close to boiling over and Frank would never relieve the pressure, nor would Sam ever stop pushing the man's buttons.

"Which won't be far enough. This is my house. Not yours, not your mother's." Frank growled. He turned to face Jim. "What do you want, Jimmy?"

He hated that. Jim hated being called 'Jimmy'. He hated that name and he hated Frank for calling him that. Jim was the name his father gave him. Not 'Jimmy' or 'Jimbo' or any of the other names Frank called him. His name was Jim. James 'Jim' Tiberius Kirk.

But… he'd never say it. He'd never ask Frank to stop. He never stood up to Frank. Things seemed to go easier if he just did what he was told. He didn't want to disappoint his mom. He didn't want to disappoint Frank. He didn't even like Frank. He didn't want to be any less of a failure to the eyes of anyone then he already was.

"I just don't want my brother to go," he said, meekly.

"Well what you want doesn't matter. You're no one." Frank stared him down, a frown on his unshaven face. "And I asked you to wash the car. How many damn times do I need to repeat myself?"

Jim's heart felt heavy.

Frank turned to Sam and uttered, "Go" before stomping back to the house, probably to light another cigarette and was down the smoke with a cold beer.

Jim looked away from Frank and turned instead to his brother, who stared at the man he hated furiously as he walked away.

"I can't take Frank anymore. Mom has no idea what he's like when she's not around. You hear him talking like he is are dad? That's not even his car you're washing, that's Dad's car." Sam looked so frustrated, about as frustrated as Jim felt as he tried to figure out how to solve this situation to make his brother stay.

"You're gonna be okay, always doing everything right. Good grades, obeying every stupid order… I can't be a Kirk in this house. Show me how to do that and I'll stay."

Jim tried to find the right words, to prove to Sam he could be a Kirk here and stay with him, but nothing could be said. He sighed in defeat.

Sam looked disappointed, but the kind where you know you were going to be disappointed, so it never came as a surprise. "I'll see you."

Those words were an empty promise. Jim could tell Sam himself didn't even know if he was coming back. Those words meant nothing.

He walked away, and Jim could do nothing but watch.

He was left with nothing to do but wash the car or face Frank's wrath, which would be especially harsh after Sam's leaving.

Grabbing a bucket and filling it with soapy water, Jim set to work on soaping down the ancient 'classic' car that was, at the moment, the bane of his existence. He splashed around the sponge, doing no good to anything and just ending up getting soapy water on his shirt.

The sun beat down on him as he worked mindlessly. Once he finished the soaping, he rinsed the car down with the hose, and wiped the outside with a towel rag. Jim was thankful frank didn't trust him enough to wax the car, so all that was left was the interior.

Jim grabbed a cloth and entered the driver's side, settling down into the leather seat before he began to wipe down all around the inside, removing all visible traces of dust that Frank might yell at him about later.

As he work on a particularly tough spot on the ceiling, he reached to flip down the sun visor so he could work on that next, and an small object fell into his lap.

Jim looked down to see the keys to the car sitting there, like a challenge from fate.

He knew he should put them back where he found them. He was ten; he didn't know how to drive a car. All logic says he should return them to their original place and carry on cleaning.

But he was tired of that. He was tired of being good, always doing the right thing. He got the top grades in his class. He never missed a single day or needed to be disciplined. He was nice, courteous, quiet and studious, and where did it get him?

His own mom couldn't even look him in the eyes, with out tearing up about his father, so most of the time she didn't even look into them at all. No matter what he did, what awards he brought home, how well he behaved, she still couldn't stand him. Frank didn't care and walked all over him like a doormat, making him do all the household chores while he sat on his ass.

His name was James Tiberius Kirk. He was a Kirk, by name and by birth, and it was time he rose to the name.

It was like as if he was watching himself from outside of his body. He slipped the keys into the ignition and brought the beast to life. The engine rumbled, awakening something deep inside him, like everything was clicking into place.

He had seen Frank work the gears before when they took rides into town. Empty dreams of one day being taught to drive this car were thrown out the window as Jim decided to teach himself.

His Kirkness must have kicked in because the engine must have alerted Frank, who slammed open the front door, livid.

"Jimmy!" He roared. "Get your ass out of that car right this minute."

Jim hit the gas and switched the gears, and rocketed down the drive way, leaving Frank sputtering in the dust. Frank tried to give him a chase, but was quickly left behind.

Driving was terrifying. At first, Jim had no control over the car. It was old, so the wheels touched the ground and bumped with every groove of the road. The steering wheel rattled, sending shivers up Jim's spine. He was going fast, really fast, but he could go faster.

Things got better and a bit worse once the dirt road ended and he was forced to turn onto the main road. He turned sharply, screeching the wheels on the pavement, causing his heart to leap up his throat.

Now he was on a straight shot, but the terror of driving was still strong. He was too short to see fully over the dash. It didn't matter. He pushed the car to go faster. He was pushing eighty and rising.

Suddenly Jim started to hear a phone ringing over the purr of the engine. It was Frank, calling the car's phone. He tried to hang up before the car answered I for him, but it was too late.

"Hey, are you out of your mind?" Frank started ranting, "That car's an antique. You think you can get away with this just because your mother's off planet? You get your ass, back home, now! You live in my house, my house, and that's my car. If you get one scratch on that car, I'm gonna whip your ass…"

Jim cut Frank off, hanging up the phone. It wasn't his car. It was his dad's car. He had no idea what he was going to do, but he had no intention of turning around now. And maybe, if he was lucky he would see Sam, and prove to him that he could be a Kirk and still live at home.

To quiet the feeling of impending doom, Jim turned on the radio.

He came on to one of his favorite songs, a classic, 'Sabotage' by the Beastie Boys. It was just starting, too.

Feeling a need for more, Jim tried to disconnect the roof of the car. He didn't account for the wind, for as soon as he unlatched it the roof soared away, like a kite in a monsoon. The wind rushed through his hair and made his eyes water, but the new Kirkness in him surged up and he yelled out in a rush of freedom.

There was a boy on the side of the road, trying to hitch hike, and for a moment Jim thought it was Sam. It was Johnny, a kid from school. He and Jim were friends. A need to show off overwhelmed him, so as he drove past, Jim called out, hitting the gas peddle even hard to cause the engine to roar and pick up speed.

Johnny looked stunned. Good. He could go tell all the other kids at school how Jim was a true Kirk now, and someone would tell Sam, and Sam would come home.

Jim grinned widely.

The grin quickly disappeared.

He herd sirens and looked in the mirror and saw a cop giving him a chase.

He kept his foot plastered to the gas peddle, hoping by some miracle the car would be able to outrun the cop, but the cop easily pulled up beside him and ordered him to pull over.

Jim's mind rushed as he tried to figure out what to do. Should he pull over and face the consequences? Frank was going to kill him, and his mom was too, once she got back. His perfect record was going to be tarnished, and he was going to be labeled a trouble child.

He could practically see Frank's face, sneering down at him.

The elation he had been feeling just a moment earlier was replaced by a burning determination.

Frank was not going to win. If he was going to get in trouble, he was not going to give in easily.

He turned onto a small dirt road but didn't let up on the gas peddle. The car rocked and trembled as it propelled him forward. The cop, now a bit behind, turned onto the road.

The road ran out, closed off at the end with a barrier. Jim crashed through it, giving the car a good denting. It wasn't enough, though.

He switched gears and approached the quarry, the burning inside of him raging.

Frank was never going to get this car back, and Jim was going to make sure of it.

He pulled the emergency brake, slammed on the brakes, and spun the wheel so that the car began to turn, yet still skid forward towards the edge of the quarry.

Adrenaline coursed through him and his blood pumped in his ears.

The wheels screamed, the engine screamed, and he screamed, jumping out of the car as it spilled over the side and fell to it's destruction on the quarry floor.

He felt terrified. He felt alive.

He had tried to account for the inertia, hoping he had left himself enough room to stop before he too went over the edge yet still make sure the car went over, but as he slammed to the ground he start to skid across it.

He dug his hand into the dirt, hoping to slow himself down, causing his fingers to bleed. His pants ripped and his shirt ripped. His face scraped against the ground, bursting his lip open.

Everything blurred around him.

He felt his feet go over the edge…

Then his legs…

Then his torso…

Then his head…

Finally he was down to just his fingers…

It seemed like for a moment he was going to stop, before it was too late. He was supposed to stop. He had done this before, hadn't he? He had survived, stood up, and stated his name proudly, unashamed of what he had done, feeling alive and free, awakened to his true calling.

But then his fingers slipped over the edge and he was left with nothing to grasp.

Next thing he knew he was falling, falling, falling, into darkness.


	4. Chapter Three

**Chapter Three**

Jim's eyes flew open, his heart racing.

Bright white lights shown down on him, a contrast to the darkness that had just surrounded him.

He squeezed his eyes shut, unable to bear it.

He was falling. He was going to die.

Jim waved his arms around, reaching for something to grasp on, and his breathing was erratic, leaving him gasping for air.

"Sam!"

Something warm pushed against his chest, forcing him down. Jim fought against it at first, confused and alarmed. Whatever it was it was trying to push him down, keep him falling. He soon realized that it was too strong to fight. Next he realized that he was not falling at all.

What ever it was pinned him down to something. Something solid. Soft, yes, but solid.

Jim let out a sigh or relief.

When he opened his eyes he was met by an unexpected sight. Spock stared down at him, the barest hind of a frown on his face, hand on Jim's chest.

Their eyes met.

Jim's throat went dry.

Spock was close… too close.

A silence stretched between them; Jim wasn't sure if it was for a few seconds or a few minutes. The passing of time seemed to be immeasurable these days.

When the silence seemed to reach it's most intense moment (if that even makes sense) Spock lifted his free hand and brought it up towards Jim's face, but Jim flinched away.

Spock quickly removed both hands and stepped back, straightening up.

Jim suddenly felt the need to apologize but the words to do so were lost. Spock must have felt that fear of him though the hand he had on his chest. Sure, it wasn't direct skin touch, but there had once been a point where Spock didn't even need to touch him, and yet he knew what Jim felt, even when he had his 'captain face' on.

But this wasn't Spock. Not really.

The need to apologize disappeared completely.

Spock moved to press the communicator on the wall, and spoke in a low voice. "Spock to McCoy. The Captain is awake again and ready for your assessment."

"Well it's about damn time," was the response.

McCoy.

Warmth lit up briefly in his heart, quickly stamped out by a pang of longing, then a brush of bitterness. He swallowed and looked away from Spock, favoring to look around the room instead.

He was in the sickbay of the Enterprise on a biobed. He ran his fingers over the blanket, feeling the smoothness of the material. He listened to the gentle beeping of his life readings on the panel above his bed.

This was that private room he had been in before. His own personal sickbay…

McCoy entered, holding a medical PADD. He was staring straight at Jim, appearing to be trying to keep his face neutral, but a twitch of the mouth told Jim McCoy was anything but.

"It's good to see you awake." McCoy said.

McCoy didn't wait for a response. He closed the distance between them and gave Jim a big bear hug. Jim let out a gasp, both in pain and surprise. McCoy was not known to so affectionate, and even thought this wasn't McCoy, he was as McCoy as Jim could imagine him to be, catching him offguard.

_It may not be so good to be awake_, Jim thought.

"Get off me." Jim's voice was stiff.

McCoy pulled away.

"What's wrong? Are you in pain?"

"No."

That was a lie.

"I know you are lying."

Jim knew he would know.

"Doctor, I do not think Jim is… himself at the moment." Spock spoke carefully. McCoy frowned.

"How are you feeling?" McCoy asked Jim.

If Jim felt like answering that he wouldn't even know where to begin. He felt _awful._

He felt like he had been strangled, knifed, phasered, drowned, beaten, bitten, burned, shocked, crushed, cut, poisoned, and fallen to his death.

Something in the way McCoy looked at his meant he might have some idea of how he felt.

Jim could now feel the traces of these experiences on his body, and the pain they left behind grew stronger under the watchful eyes of McCoy.

Jim looked at his arms and was surprised to see them bruised and scratched, and his fingers were raw and bleeding.

Though it made no sense, he could often feel the injuries he got, but rarely could he see them once he woke up in the next scenario. If an injury was one that had been life threatening (or life ending) it would be healed when he work up, but often some pain would remain. It was if they were dark trophies of what he lived through.

There was the feeling of bruises all over his body, and by the way he was being looked at he knew they had shown up on the readings McCoy must have taken from him.

McCoy frowned as he watched Jim assess himself, before letting out a little swear.

Like lightening, he grabbed Jim's arm and held it tight so he couldn't yank it away and looked at it.

"These injuries are new. Do you know how he got these?"

"Jim woke up in a rather sudden matter, and I did not notice these on him until after I calmed him down." Spock answered.

"Well damn." McCoy let go of Jim's arm and grabbed a tricorder sitting on a nearby counter top and started to scan Jim's arms. He the proceeded to pull out a skingrapher and add a new layer of skin over the scratches up and down Jim's arm.

"I have no idea how this could happen. I examined him after Spock nerve pinched him down and he didn't have these. I'm not sure what in this room could even cause something like that." He appeared to be talking to neither Spoke nor Jim, but to himself.

Jim stiffened a bit when McCoy mentioned the nerve pinch. Voices echoed in his ear.

_I will be forced to take action._

_I'm quaking in my gown._

Apparently this was a continuation of whatever _that_ was before. Jim felt tired.

"No one blames you for how you acted Jim. No one was seriously hurt. In fact, most people are impressed. And worried. We are all worried about you."

This McCoy had pronounced worry lines worn into his forehead. Jim tried to remember if McCoy had them before. He always made the doctor worried, yes, but just like him, the doctor looked tired.

"I don't want your worry." Jim said quietly.

"We have a right to be worried, Jim. You were gone for eight months, and when we found you, you were hardly in a hospitable environment. God knows how long they kept you in that room."

In a room? No, dwell on that later.

Eight months?

"I was gone for eight months?" He was confused, as always, but this time didn't catch him self from voicing it until it was too late.

"Yes! And we just rescued you!"

"Rescued me from where?"

"We are not sure what it exactly it is, but we found you confined to a room in a seemingly abandoned settlement of unknown origins on a unexplored Class M planet. Do you know if they were keeping you there the whole time or were you only moved there recently?"

"Who?"

"The people who kidnapped you? Do you know their identities? Their species? Their location?"

Jim was confused and was not sure what to say. McCoy seemed intent on believing he had just rescued Jim from some mysterious kidnappers. Jim didn't know enough context to play along and his ignorance only infuriated McCoy.

"Doctor, I have come to the conclusion Jim does not know what you are talking about, concerning his kidnapping and confinement."

Spock never missed a step, did he?

"No shit, Sherlock. I just can't believe it." McCoy growled at Spock.

"You are James T. Kirk. Correct?" He addressed Jim.

"Affirmative," Jim confirmed.

"Captain of the USS Enterprise?"

"I once was." His voice was unable to hide a ting of bitterness.

"What do you mean once?"

"Well I disappeared for eight months, apparently; don't you think you guys ought to have gotten a new captain by now?"

"Clarify what you really meant when you said you used to be." Damn. Spock was a sharp one.

"What I meant is I am not sure. I was the captain at one point, and then… I do not know what to say."

"How did you get those scratches on your arm?"

"No clue."

"Jim." McCoy's voice was firm, and his face sour.

"I have an idea of how, but I don't think I'll share."

"Why not? We are your friends, you can tell us anything." Jim's heart stung. McCoy looked like he really believed it. Spock's face was impassive.

"Are you? You may think you are but I know better."

"Of course we are. What is that supposed to mean?" McCoy looked hurt.

Spock looked like he was trying to solve a riddle. "Does this matter have a correlation to what you referred to during your last period of consciousness?"

"What did I say exactly?" He remembered the escape attempt, but the details were fuzzy. The more he tried to think of them the more they drifted away, just like the messed up memory of the day Sam left became fragmented.

Nothing was clear.

"To summarize, you demanded to be left alone, claimed you tried to explain to us a subject which proved to be fruitless as you said, and I paraphrase, 'nothing changed' and we do not 'understand' and we 'never will'." Spock's voice was clear and precise. As he spoke Jim watched his face, noticing a twitch of the eyebrows. Not his usual eyebrow raise that he pulled when he was confused or amused. This one was more similar to the eyebrow movement Spock made when fighting showing a negative emotion.

"That sounds about right." It really did, though Spock didn't appear to appreciate Jim's half hearted praise.

"Will you clarify?"

"No."

"We are just trying to understand what you went through Jim," pleaded McCoy.

"You have your scans."

"I know what they say, but scans can only say so much, but I want you to give me an explanation," demanded McCoy.

"I don't want to!" Jim cried out.

McCoy and Spock both gave him appraising looks at his outburst. He could tell they didn't think he was in his right mind. They also looked as if they were both really worried.

But they weren't… right?

Jim wanted McCoy. Jim wanted the real McCoy. He wanted the real Spock. He wanted the real Enterprise. He wanted his life back.

All of it. If that's what it took.

He wanted all of it.

It was better then this…

But was it?

It had to be.

"I mean it when I say, you would not believe me."


	5. Chapter Four

**Chapter Four**

"I mean it when I say, you would not believe me."

"I'd believe! Tell me! Please?"

Jim sat across from a little girl with beautiful dark skin and very curly black hair. She had peculiar green eyes that glowed when she got excited. Her name was Shae. She was twelve, the same age as him.

They were outside, in the middle of a grassy field. The grass they sat on was turquoise a silver tinge. Dark emerald flowers were dotted here and there. Shae had a small bouquet of them pulled together sitting on her lap.

"Okay, my dad is the captain of a spaceship!"

"Really?" Jim immediately thought of his father.

"Yes! Not a big spaceship though, but it is pretty big."

"What kind of spaceship? Federation?" Jim tried not to seem too interested. He pretended to be looking at something on his hand.

"No, a trading vessel!"

"That is so cool! Why do you think I would not believe you?"

"Everyone else says I'm a liar. I do like to lie to them a lot, but sadly when I tell the truth no one seems to believe me."

"Oh what a shame." Jim said sarcastically.

"Silence, you." Shae threw a wad of clumped up grass at Jim, striking him smartly on the forehead. Jim pretended to be offended, gasping at her audacity. She laughed and Jim grinned, pleased with himself.

"Have you been on it? The ship, I mean."

"Of course! I was born on that ship in the middle of a trip. I grew up on it."

"Really?"

"Yes! See, I told you. You don't believe me!"

"No, it is not that. I have just never met anyone else who was born in space." In Riverside, most children there were born on the planet and of those the majority in Iowa and in Riverside itself. Since then he had met many people born on many different planets. No one else in space, though. Not unheard of, but not too common. He was not supposed to have been. "One day I want to have my own ship and just fly endlessly through space. Planet hop and have adventures."

"Can I join you? I miss it. I hate that my father made me come here. My dad's ship was no beauty, but it ran well and got us where we needed to go, and I could spend hours running around the halls and engine room."

"My ship will do that and better. I'll be the captain and you'll be my first."

Shae scooted over the grass to get closer to him. She wrapped two arms around one of his and leaned her head on his shoulder. Jim smiled to himself.

Jim had other friends here. He was not alone here. Not like he was in Riverside. But of all the friends he made, he was most grateful for Shae. They were so similar in many ways, and somehow became closer friends in the few months that they had know each other then either of them thought they would ever have.

Jim was certain he had never been this happy before. This never would have happened if his mother had not let him come with her.

"Do you promise?"

"I promise."

Her eyes gleamed.


End file.
